Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” he mutters, blinking repeatedly to keep his eyes wide open.
If he weren’t tired, he’d flip me over by now. I like how hungered he usually is, but there’s something extremely fucking sexy about how he’s trying to battle his exhaustion.
I pull him between my legs to massage his back with two hands. I brace more of my weight against him, and my thumbs knead the base of his neck.
He swallows a wolfish groan, the noise almost fisting my cock.
I grit down and shift slightly.
Maximoff glances back at me, his fuck me, kiss me eyes in full blood-boiling effect. Before I even make a move, he rotates his body to take charge. And he yanks my leg, pulling me down—my head hits the pillow.
Damn.
My pulse hammers in my throat as I lie beneath him.
I clutch his neck and bring his mouth to mine. The starved kiss turns deep and heady as his tongue parts my lips. Fuck, Maximoff.
The way he uses his mouth is fucking killing me.
He falls to his elbows. Lowering his pelvis against my pelvis, thin fabric separates us, but he’s grinding while deepening a kiss.
Hot friction hardens him and me. Veins throb in my cock, and his dick pulses against mine. Fuckfuck. A gruff noise cages inside my lungs.
Maximoff shifts his head and scans me in a slow, thundering wave. One that clearly reads I want to fuck you.
His voice is more hollowed out as he says, “I don’t want to fucking sleep. Not yet.”
With him above me, I run my palm down his hard chest and the valleys of his abs. Our stinging lips brushing, I whisper strongly, “You want to fuck me?”
His mouth crushes against my mouth, and his hips buck against my waist before he grows more against my thigh. Fuck, I love feeling a guy harden.
Our muscular legs tangle; my ankle rubs his calf, and I grip his hair with one hand, our tongues wrestling. I could flip him to his back, but instead, my other hand travels to the waistband of his boxer-briefs. Dipping under them, I cup his perfect bare ass.
He grumbles an aroused curse against my mouth.
Huskily, I ask, “Did you like that?”
His gaze narrows in want.
I test something and edge my fingers towards his—he tenses. Badly. Enough to where I draw my hand back to his shoulder, and he stays rigid and catches his breath.
I have to ask. “You still want to try to bottom?”
Maximoff lifts his body off me a little more. His palm on the quilt by my shoulder. His eyes trace an inked skull pirate on my ribcage. “Yeah,” he says with a heavy breath. “I do, but I keep thinking about the tour bus and how the fuck this’ll work.”
“We’ll figure it out,” I say, confident about this.
He waits for me to add something else. A strategy or a plan. Maximoff likes to pack his survival gear, and I’m basically saying, just trust me with what we have on our backs.
He makes a face. “So we’ll figure it out in a million light-years.”
I roll my eyes into a short laugh. “I meant we’ll figure it out in the moment, not when we’re both buried six feet under the ground.” His phone rings and then buzzes somewhere on the bed.
He sits up. “I could be immortal.”
I sit up too. “You’re definitely not humble.” I find his phone beneath his pillow and toss it to him. “Here you go, beautiful.”
Maximoff catches his cell and looks thoroughly annoyed by me. Job well done. “Thanks,” he says. “Now I’m eternally sterile.”
“That’s not how that works,” I say. “Looks like you need elementary biology.”
His next words are garbled in a long yawn.
“And sleep,” I add as he pinches his tired eyes—he drops his hand, glowering. His forest-greens flit to my rock-hard bulge, then his bulge.
“I can tell you who’s bigger. And it’s not you.”
He tries hard not to break into a smile. “Funny.”
“It wasn’t a joke.”
He glares. “Now I’m fucking limp. Thank you.”
I tilt my head. “Do I really need to point out the lie here?”
He ignores me by pulling the quilt over our legs. Then he unlocks his phone. “It’s probably Dari.” His assistant. “I emailed her about the tour.” A frown crests his face. “I missed a call. Maybe a butt dial since it didn’t ring that many times…and a text from the same person.” He straightens up.
I rest my elbow on my bent knee. “It’s not Dari,” I assume.
He flashes his cell, a text on the screen.
Can we talk when you have time? – Dr. Keene.
Fucking hell. My father is texting him. On a subject unrelated to his health.
Someone among the Hales, Cobalts or Meadows must’ve told my father that I’m dating Maximoff. It makes the most sense.
And instead of contacting me, his son, he’s reaching out to Maximoff. I sense the strain between me and my father all the time, but it seems to yank tighter.